


Help I'm Alive

by Jonagorgon



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-08-06
Packaged: 2020-08-09 22:37:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20124982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jonagorgon/pseuds/Jonagorgon
Summary: X: Asleep. Dormant. An arrow in the upside-down quiver.Y: And the arrow fell out.X: Did it? They underestimated her then, and they still do now.





	Help I'm Alive

Warm bodies were splayed about the couches and carpet in the Wheeler basement den on a Tuesday summer evening. Salty and sugary food and drink flowed generously from vibrantly hued packaging, Atari controllers were corpse-like on the floor after recent strangulation, and frigid metal vents whispered cold secrets into the air. Above were the hurried footsteps of floor-stabbing shoes of fine quality on kitchen linoleum.

"I'm going to my ballroom dancing class, and I'll be back in a couple hours!" shouted Karen Wheeler at the top of the basement stairs. "There's more Pineapple and Orange Crush in the fridge! And please use bowls for the chips, ok?"

"Ok, thanks, Mom!" yelled Mike from the basement with exaggerated faux-appreciation.

"Be nice," said Eleven, muffling Mike's face with a couch pillow. He pushed it back and playfully smothered her face with it, and she let out a muted shriek. Dustin caught a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos hurled at him despite his request for a more graceful transfer, while Max opened a sweating can of soda with a sharp pop of the tab.

"Shlurp. Glug glug glug. Mmm," said Max. "You wouldn't think Strawberry Crush and Taco Doritos would taste good together, but they kinda do."

"Ok, but seriously," opined Lucas. "If I was Bastion, I'd simply stop reading this Neverending Story book, and throw it into a lit fireplace. If the book ceased to exist, that reality would cease to exist, and voila, no more suffering. The Nothing would cease to be a something. I and the book's characters would no longer have to stress out about it. The end."

"Or," said Max. "You could just not be a lazy ass and help destroy the Nothing, so they all live happily ever after."

"But who's to say the Nothing wouldn't return?" asked Lucas. "I'd essentially always be on-call to protect that world from evil. That's asking a lot; I'm a busy man. No, I'd just end it, granting eternal, peaceful sleep to everyone involved."

Eleven sank her teeth into a room-temperature Eggo waffle, and Mike swooped in for a bite on the opposite end. As they were both latched onto the waffle, Eleven lasered Mike's eyeballs with a surprised frown that was quickly overpowered by her smile as Mike chuckled through his nose.

"Uh ok," said Dustin, "But like, in the name of both science and magic, you wouldn't want to connect their world to ours? It's like if we finally found intelligent alien life and decided we're going to annihilate them, because it's more convenient. Why do you hate all that is good and wonderful?"

"You can't murder Falcor, Lucas," Mike added, after swallowing a mouthful of purloined Eggo. "Let Falcor fly in our world and give people rides and catch criminals, then let the rest of the characters live out their lives in the book free of the Nothing. If you destroyed the book, you might as well be the Super Nothing."

"Sure, ok," said Lucas. "But, consider this, Mike. You know Falcor would undoubtedly fail to heed FAA regulations and likely clip a passenger jet causing the deaths of hundreds of people. A large prison cell would have to be constructed on death row just for him." Lucas crunched a malformed, overly-yet-perfectly seasoned Cool Ranch Dorito triangle and continued his rant. "And whose tax dollars would be paying for that?"

"None of ours?" replied Max mockingly.

"You're so cynical, Lucas," said Dustin. "You're assuming Falcor would go renegade and disregard our laws entirely. I don't think that's true. Especially, if we sat him down and said 'Hey, look Falcor, you rock, but here are some guidelines, and you're going to need a harness with a radio so you can communicate with air towers.' I mean, he's relatively level-headed; I don't think he'd object."

"Guys," muttered Will.

"Oh really?" asked Lucas. "And yet the first thing he did upon entering our world was terrorize some kids, precipitating their retreat into an alleyway dumpster, which likely had HIV contaminated needles in it. Yes, that's right, Dustin; Falcor gives children AIDS, and then laughs about it."

"Guys!" shouted a distressed Will. "Something's wrong...I feel goosebumps on the back of my neck."

"You're sitting by the A/C vent, numb nuts," said Max. "And take that wizard's hat off; Looks like a purple traffic cone."

"Max," said Lucas scoldingly.

"I'd rather banish your soul from your body with my incantations, pale witch!" said Will indignantly, raising his staff of power. "Oh wait, little ginger doesn't have a soul. Asphalt eater is just..empty inside.."

Will smirked, looking around the stunned room of pregnant laughter, searching for approval. A murderous expression materialized onto Max's face and she transfigured into an orange blur in the air on a hostile vector toward Will The Regretful as laughter burst forth in the room.

\------------------------

Karen Wheeler arrived at the Motel 6 on Cornwallis five minutes to eight for her private swimming lesson with Billy Hargrove. She unlatched the metal gate to the pool area and walked in, where there were numerous flickering candles surrounding the sky blue glow of the water. It looked like some sort of pool party for monks. Billy Hargrove, dressed in a brown tweed suit with a burgundy pocket square, smiled dashingly as Karen sauntered toward him, her crimson, taffeta dress perky and buoyant in the evening breeze, her lips trying but failing to suppress a euphoric grin.

"Mrs. Wheeler," said Billy with an impressed lilt in his voice. "I swear you somehow manage to look younger and more beautiful every time I see you. What's your secret?" Billy stepped closer toward Karen, and she could feel his hot exhalations across her décolletage like desert winds from distant, forbidden kingdoms. His voice deepened impossibly further. "Maybe, you could uh..show me the naked truth."

Suddenly, there was a splash in the pool. Karen turned to glimpse a sleek form in a Speedo doing a backstroke, gliding across the water surface with an olympian's confident and powerful grace. Is that? Well, if it isn't the Demogorgon!—Looking pretty unintimidating by the way, as anyone performing a text-book backstroke naturally would. The Demogorgon, or rather, a Demogorgon—who prefers you call him Brayden, who enjoys scattering pickled jalapeños on just about every food his face petals touch—became good pals with Billy this summer after ditching his upside down zip code for good a few months ago.

"Some bubbly?" inquired Billy, holding out a bottle and wine glass.

"Uh, yes, thank you," replied Karen.

Billy poured some fizzy gold into the glass, handed it to Karen, and she took a nose-tickling sip. "Mmm, sparkling cider? Well, ok then. You're just full of surprises, Billy."

"Well, I have to say," said Billy, placing the sparkling cider bottle on a nearby patio table. "I've been aching to get you full of something for a while now."

"Oh?" said Karen, feigning surprise.

"Knowledge of advanced swimming techniques that is!" Billy walked over to a double-sided whiteboard on wheels and lengthened a presentation pointer. "Now, if you'll turn your attention to the whiteboard, Mrs. Wheeler, we can begin."

Various diagrams, arcane formulas, expertly drawn human forms depicting the stages of several different swimming strokes filled every inch of space on the whiteboard.

"Tonight, we're going to atomize and study several swimming strokes," Billy said with a veteran oratory tone. "Now, obviously you're preternaturally gifted, but applying my specialized knowledge to your techniques will make your swimming motions nothing short of Da Vinci masterpieces on a hydro-canvas."

Brayden exited the pool with leg strength alone and sat Indian style on the ground facing Billy, still dripping water and smelling of chlorine, somehow expressing rapt enthusiasm on his face petals as the lesson got underway. Karen looked rather puzzled, but sat down on a lounge chair with her non-alcoholic bubbly in hand to listen.

\------------------------

"—Oh, please," said Max. "Why would you assume she wouldn't like video games, Lucas?"

"I didn't, I uh," stuttered Lucas.

"El," said Max. "Tomorrow we're going to the mall arcade, and I'm going to show you how to play, so we can both school these dorks on video games."

"—Mike, whatever," said an unimpressed Dustin.

"Dude, no one likes Cool Ranch Doritos more than me," said Mike insistently.

"Oh, that is hilarious," said Dustin.

"Mike, come on," said Will. "I think I remember a big bowl of Cool Ranch Doritos sitting on Lucas's living room coffee table a week ago, and you maybe had like, what, six chips in all that whole night? Meanwhile, Dustin was sucking them down like a Hoover."

"So, I had an off day," said Mike defensively. "Look, you could put me at the end of the conveyor belt at the Doritos factory and just let them fall into my mouth forever. I'd totally commit to that. I'd first write a letter to the world saying the following: 'Sorry world, all of the Cool Ranch Doritos are now being intercepted by my face. Thank you for your understanding. Good night and good luck. Love, Mike The Cool Ranch King.'"

"All talk, Mike. All talk," said Dustin. "Look, my undying love for them is backed by statistics, not theoretical d—"

"I don't know why you're both so obsessed with Cool Ranch," interjected Max. "Taco beats Cool Ranch's ass any day."

"Um, that is blasphemy, and you know what," said Dustin, as he reached over and placed a hand in front of Max's eyes. "You are hereby ejected from this conversa—OwwwGOD—

\------------------------

"So, you see, Mrs. Wheeler," concluded Billy. "This equation perfectly expresses the theoretical confluence of the simultaneous arm and leg motions with compensation for inertia, resulting in ultimate efficiency on every axis based on water density and atmospheric pressure. Any questions?"

"Well, no, but, that was very...illuminating," Karen said, trying to hide utter bewilderment. She ambled up to Billy as he deftly compressed his metallic presentation pointer and checked his gold pocket watch. "How can I ever repay you for this? How about I..uh..show you where the theoretical meets the..physical.."

"Oh, Mrs. Wheeler," said Billy. "It's getting so..hard—"

Karen stepped closer to Billy, biting her lip, staring into the galaxies that lived in his eyes.

"—to find people who are genuinely enthusiastic about perfecting their swimming techniques. I admire your fervor! Tomorrow night, we'll hit the water and put some of what you learned tonight into motion. Don't worry, I'll bring another bottle of sparkling cider. Hasta mañana, Mrs. Wheeler, and drive safely!"

Brayden and Billy retreated into a motel room and closed the door. Karen stood there on the cool concrete next to the whiteboard among the sad candle puddles, nonplussed, eyebrows very asymmetrical indeed.

"So, Brayden," said Billy. "Tomorrow, let's go to the mall. It's time you get some fresh new clothes."

"Sure, pancakes."

"Whoa, there. First of all, don't you ever call me pancakes again. Call me sweetcakes. Second, do you want to make love tonight?"

"Affirmative. I was thinking about boinking you during the entire lesson, actually."

"Good, because I want to spark a renaissance of amorous desire in your very soul, my love," declaimed Billy. "To make it sizzle in crimson as we transcend our mortal shells, daring to reach the fiery summit of complete vulnerability and unalloyed pleasure, always floating, yet always falling forever into each other's arms."

"Okey dokey," said Brayden. "And my tumescent pelvis boa wants to go spelunking into your face cave with like, substantial gusto."

"Naturally," replied Billy, loosening his bowtie.

\------------------------

"I'd probably buy an old castle in Europe and host D&D games there like every day," said Will. "Heck, yeah."

"I'd buy a Camaro," said Lucas, gazing toward the ceiling in a reverie. "Like Billy's but with a camouflage paint job and mounted auto-loading wrist rockets."

"Billy's hot," said Eleven nonchalantly.

Mike did a respectable impression of a Pineapple Crush geyser. "What the hell, El?" he asked, his voice cracking on 'hell'.

"Friends don't lie, Mike," said Eleven. "I'm just being honest. He's a mouth breather, but his mouth is pretty."

"Bad? Pretty bad," said Mike.

"He's been acting super strange lately," said Max. "He's just..not his usual crude self. He wears Chelsea boots now and uses words like 'ambivalence' in casual conversation."

Eleven manifested a curious expression. "Well, let's see what he's up to," she said.

"Oh, come on," said Mike, sinking into the couch.

Eleven tied her blindfold and soon arrived in Billy's dark mind-space, unable to resist smiling.

"What's he doing?" inquired Max.

Eleven's smile slowly drained from her face as a peppercorn of blood timidly slid down her upper lip. She ripped off the blindfold, radiating bewilderment, as she wiped her nose with her right index finger.

"El, what happened?" asked Mike.

Blood was still rushing to new parts of Eleven's brain. "Billy..and the Demogorgon were—"

"The Demogorgon is back?!" shouted Lucas incredulously.

"Oh shit, oh shit!" said a flustered Dustin.

"See, it wasn't the A/C vent, Max, it was the Demogorgon. You dumbass. Dumb Max!" proclaimed Will triumphantly.

"El, what were they doing?" said Mike impatiently.

"Oh shit, oh god, son of a bitch!" said a still flustered Dustin.

"Get it? Because, like, you're dumb, and your na—" explained Will.

"Clever," replied Max, mockingly wide-eyed.

"Everyone quiet!" blurted an annoyed Mike. "Let El talk."

"They were," said a perturbed Eleven. "Doing something...I can't describe it. Mike, lie down on the ground face up, so I can show you what I saw."

"If the Demogorgon is back in the real world," postulated Lucas. "Then either it's a different Demogorgon, or the Demogorgon didn't die after being dissolved by El. Either way we h—OH SHIT El, what in the god damn holy hell are you doing!?"

"Language!" shouted Mr. Wheeler unenthusiastically from upstairs.

"Yeah, language!" squeaked Holly Wheeler enthusiastically from Mr. Wheeler's arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Metric - Help I'm Alive


End file.
